Free Reinventing Mike Lake by R.W. Jones

told me of a few restaurants within walking distance that stayed open 24 hours, so if I found myself hungry at that hour during my stay to check those out.  I also suspected she told me this so I didn’t wake her up at odd hours of the night.  I was a bit of an oaf when it came to getting around a kitchen.
                    Heading out of the kitchen, leaving me at the table, she told me I was free to stay as long as I want, and she wouldn’t make plans to rent out my room until I told her I was leaving.  She also mentioned that I could pay a weekly rate, which would save me about 100 bucks a week, as opposed to paying daily, if I thought I was staying for an extended period of time.  She knew I was planning to stay for an extended amount of time before I did.
                  During the drive from Treasure Island, I had dreaded thinking about how I was actually going to be on my own for possibly the first time in my life.  As I sat there alone in the kitchen, I thought about how I wasn’t nearly as on my own as I expected.  Jean, as mentioned, reminded me of my mom, and after listening and showing a genuine interest in my life, I felt safe around her.  I knew I would be comfortable with Jean and Frank looking after me, or at least having the feeling they would. 
                  With a full belly, I went back to my room and slept soundly for a few more hours.  Waking up around 6 a.m., I hung out in my room for a couple hours, showering and writing, and headed downstairs for breakfast.  I wasn’t expecting much more than a continental breakfast, but was instead greeted by a meal fit for a farmer.  Ham, sausage, bacon, eggs, potatoes, biscuits, and freshly squeezed Florida orange juice, and of course, star fruit.
                  I usually wasn’t a big breakfast eater, but just like my mom, Jean was the type of person who would make sure you’ve eaten at least one full plate before she thought you were properly stocked to start your day.  Being that this was a Wednesday, and not at full capacity, I knew that this was going to be the size of breakfast every day, at least.  I resigned myself to the fact that this portion of the trip was not going to be a stop where I would be eating healthy.
                  Following breakfast, I went back upstairs for a few more hours to do some writing.  I had intended to write for even longer, but being in Key West this long without seeing the sights was getting to me, and most likely hurting my writing if all I was thinking about was getting out of my room.
                  After setting Bahama up in the room, knowing she does well alone for a few hours on her own, and of course closing the windows, I headed out.  I would have normally taken Bahama on a walk like this, but because I wasn’t sure where I was going I thought it was best to leave her behind until I had a bit of an idea of my surroundings. 
                  It was a short walk from my room to the epicenter of Key West, Duval Street.  It houses most of the restaurants and bars tourists like to frequent.  During the short walk to Duval Street I thought about how my uncle had told me Hemingway had lived here and how he walked these same exact streets some 70 years earlier.  From what I understood, from reading biographies and some internet research, he spent most of his time walking between his house which is now a museum and known as the Hemingway House, and the bar Sloppy Joe’s.  Occasionally, legend states, he took his work to the bar and did it there.  In my modern day thought it was hard for me not to imagine him lugging his laptop with him to the bar, which would have been quite the sight.  However, he was bringing paper and pen, which makes for an even better sight.  I couldn’t help but wonder if he ever spilled any of his drinks on his writings.  I pictured his legendary temper getting the better of him,